The Boy with Green Eyes
by sunnywinterclouds
Summary: AU. A little girl sees the boy with green eyes today.


A little girl sees the boy with green eyes today.

"Mommy, who's that?" she says, tugging at the hem of her mother's yellow sundress. The middle-aged woman turns her head in the direction her daughter is looking and frowns.

And there he is, the boy with green eyes. The woman doesn't see him often. He's always been there, she knows, not hiding, but not visible. Just there. Behind a shop, in an alley, near a parking lot. Everyone sees him, now and again, but nobody looks for him. Everyone knows him, but nobody _knows_ him.

He is a constant, like the trees and the sky, something taken for granted, but the difference is that if he disappeared it wouldn't matter. People would wonder, perhaps, taking a few seconds of their day to let him grace their thoughts, but then it would be gone, and he would be forgotten.

"Well? Who is he, Mommy?"

The woman's light brown eyes, shrouded by sunglasses, meet the boy's green for just a moment.

And then she looks away, like everyone does, and smiles down at her daughter, taking her hand in her own.

"Nobody," she says, adjusting her sunhat as they walk towards the town. "Absolutely nobody."

And she doesn't think about him again.

… … …

That is his life. He is no one. He has no family, no friends, no home. He is just there, living the endless cycle of living but not being, and he is content. Not happy, but not sad, not angry, not lonely, _content._

He is ready to spend his life repeating this infinite cycle, every day for the rest of time. He's okay with it.

And then she breaks the cycle.

… … …

It's a Friday, in June, the last day of the school year. The rest of the summer is hers, and she's walking home with an extra spring in her step. It's not like she hates school – quite the contrary, in fact. She loves to learn. But freedom is difficult to attain when there are classes and homework and social statuses to keep up with, and doesn't _every_ sixteen-year-old spend the entire school year waiting for summer vacation?

Annabeth is almost skipping by the time she enters _Subway_ and orders her usual ham and cheese. Nothing, _nothing,_ can ruin her day.

Except, she realizes as she turns the corner, a pair of startling green eyes.

His face is gaunt and thin, his cheekbones clearly visible under his pale skin. His faded orange shirt is tattered, several rips on the collar and patches missing all throughout the fabric. His dark hair is mess, tangled and knotted and falling in his face. There's a bit of dirt caked under his fingernails, and the soles of his sneakers are so worn they're almost gone.

All those things are there. They are all qualities that the boy possesses, they are all right in front of her, but she can't see them, and it's not because she doesn't care like all the others.

It's not because she can't see him.

It's because all she _can_ see are his eyes.

She knows that if people ever take the time to discuss him, they call him _the boy with green eyes_, but she's never seen him before, so she's never known _why._ Or, she has, but she's never really known the _magnitude_ of just how green they are.

His irises are a completely impossible, otherworldly shade of deep emerald. Or, no, a bright lime. Are they the same colour as blossoming leaves on a tree in early spring? Or maybe freshly mowed lawn at its healthiest and finest?

They remind her of the ocean.

That's it, she thinks. His eyes are the colour of the sea. Sea-green. Pure, intense, and beautiful.

She's always liked her own eyes, a rather striking bright gray, but in this moment she would give_ anything _to have eyes as beautiful as his.

"You dropped your bag," he says, finally, after what feels like hours of prolonged eye contact. His voice is hoarse, like he doesn't use it much, but still friendly and warm.

Her cheeks flush red as she looks down, realizing that her bag had indeed slipped out of her hand as she'd stared shamelessly at him. Her books are scattered, and her pens are rolling down the sidewalk away from her grasp.

"Crap," she murmurs, kneeling down to collect her fallen things. She's lucky it's the last day of school, because her Algebra book is ripped and her English notes are everywhere.

A beaten up sneaker enters her view, and she looks up to find him peering down cautiously at her. His eyes are concerned, and a little wary. She'd learned in biology that eyes do _not_ show emotions the way people seem to think, but she's positive that in this case they're windows to his soul. It's clear that he wants to help, but he's not sure if he's _allowed._

"I… I'm going to go get your pens. Is that okay?"

She not sure why he has to ask, because he's obviously just trying to be nice and how could _that_ be interpreted as being rude, but she nods up at him and smiles anyway.

He smiles back, and it takes her breath away.

Annabeth stuffs her books carelessly back where they belong, and he hands her the assorted writing utensils. She thanks him and stands up, shouldering her bag and noting that he's only a few inches taller than her.

"What's your name?" she asks, and he looks absolutely shell-shocked.

She worries she's done something wrong, because he just stares at her (_through _her, because she's positive that those eyes can penetrate the inside of her skin) and doesn't say a word.

"Um, sorry?" she says, hesitant, and he shakes himself out of his reverie to give her a half-smirk.

"No, it's okay. Just not used to that. I'm Percy."

"Annabeth," she replies, blowing an errant strand of blonde hair out of her face.

She holds her hand out for him to shake, and he stares at it just a moment before grasping it firmly in his own. His grip is warm and calloused, the back his fingers covered in scars, and she stops for a moment to wonder where he got them all.

"You dropped your lunch, too," he points out, breaking their direct eye contact in favor of looking at her wrapped _Subway_ sandwich that's lying on the gravel.

She's not hungry anymore.

"You can have it," she mutters, wishing he would turn his eyes back to hers. She takes her hand out of his to pick up the fallen sub, and holds it towards him.

His kind, open green eyes suddenly grow cold, hardening faster than she would have thought possible. He takes a step backwards, glaring at her like she's the bane of his existence, and shoves his hands in the pockets of his loose jeans.

"No thanks," he says, spinning on his heel and walking back into the alley that she'd spotted him in. She stares after him, and then slowly picks up her bag and leaves.

But she does something different, something that's never been done to the boy with green eyes before.

She doesn't forget.

… … …

It rains that night. Long and hard, the thunder claps overhead almost deafening and the streaks of lightning illuminating the entire house every time they flash across the sky. It's summer, but this is Wisconsin so it's still freezing cold.

She can't stop thinking about how Percy must be doing.

He didn't have an umbrella. He's probably soaking wet, and cold, and hungry. She's mad at him for not accepting the sandwich. She's mad at herself for offering it and making him leave. She's mad at the sky for raining.

Five minutes is all it takes for her self-restraint to melt away completely, and then she's grabbing a raincoat from the closet and an umbrella from the hall and then she's out in the rain stomping down the street in her galoshes at three o'clock in the morning.

This might just be the craziest thing she's ever done.

He's still there, as she'd feared he wouldn't be, all curled up and shivering against the wall absolutely drenched. She approaches him slowly, trying not to startle him, and he finally looks up at her with sad, hollow eyes, and she feels something inside of her heart break.

"Hi," she says, and hands them the umbrella. He stares at it, then at her, then back at it, and at her again, and then finally holds it up with trembling fingers over his head. He watches her, his soaking wet black hair falling into his eyes, and she has to hold back the urge to brush it away so she can see his irises again.

"Hi," he returns finally, quirking his lips upwards just a tiny bit. She sits down next to him, wishing she'd brought blankets or towels, but she's empty-handed.

"It's cold," she finally says, trying to start a conversation. He merely nods, and looks at her.

"I know."

More painful silence envelopes the two of them, save for the constant sound of the rain hitting the pavement and the ever so often jolts of thunder that follow the jagged bolts of lightning.

"Thanks," he says finally, turning his head towards her. His eyes are grateful, but guarded, and she wants nothing more than to knock down the walls that he's so clearly constructed around him.

"You're welcome," she replies, smiling. "So how old are you?"

He studies her face for a moment before responding.

"Sixteen."

"Me, too." Her smile widens.

He curls closer into himself for warmth, and she wants to hug him until he's not cold anymore.

"So, Percy, what's your favorite colour?"

"Blue," is his instant response, and he smiles a real, true smile that makes her heart soar.

"Mine's green," she says, and then wrinkles her eyebrows. No, it's not. It's red. It's _always_ been red. Except, not anymore. "Sea green," she adds, grinning at the truth of it.

"Why are you here?" he asks abruptly, staring right through her with those amazing eyes of his.

"I was worried about you."

He studies her face. He's giving her this weird look, like no one's ever cared for him before, and it hits her hard in the gut that no one probably ever has.

"Okay," he says, and leaves it at that.

She scoots almost imperceptibly closer to him.

"I forgot one," he says finally.

"Huh?"

"The pens. That I collected for you. I forgot one."

He reaches into his pocket and deposits a capped ballpoint pen into her lap. It's her favorite one.

"That's okay," she finds herself saying. "You can keep it."

His eyes light up, and the tips of her fingers tingle.

"Really?"

"Uh-huh."

The corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles at her.

"Thank you." He takes the pen back and rolls it between his fingers, back and forth.

"Well, it _is_ your favorite colour," she says, because the pen is indeed blue and she's hoping to make him laugh.

It works.

And Annabeth has never heard a more wonderful sound in all of her life.

… … …

"I brought a blanket," is how she greets him the next morning. It's Saturday, and it hasn't even been 24 hours since she met him but she can't stop _thinking_ about him and if she'd had school today she probably would have been doodling his eyes all throughout class. She might be about to get the shape right, she thinks, but there's no way there's any marker in the world that can capture the colour of his irises.

Right now they're a dark, fierce colour, and their glare is directed precisely on her.

"I don't want it."

She feels a lump in her throat. He's too proud to accept charity, she thinks. It's why he kept the pen. It was a trinket, a little gift, not something given out of pity.

She'd like to say the blanket is out of concern, which it is, but she guesses it's probably out of pity, too.

"I didn't say it was for you," she covers, and proceeds to spread the quilt out on the gravel and lie down on it. He stares at her for a moment, and then grins, happiness instantly making its way into his eyes and turning them from a rough ocean to a calm sea.

"In that case, mind if I join you?"

She hems and haws for a moment before smiling and patting the space next to her.

"So, Percy, tell me something about you."

He fiddles with something in his hands, and she notices with delight that it's the pen she gave him.

"You first," he says, like he's afraid to give anything away unless she's willing to do the same.

"Sure. My name is Annabeth Chase and I live with my dad and I'm an only child. My favorite subject is math and I love to climb trees and watch birds and draw stuff. I hate the word _slur_ just because it's a stupid word. I don't have a favorite book because I love them all and I hate texting and I like riding my bike and I don't like it when people swallow giant pills without any water because _how do they do that?_ Oh, and my favorite number is seven. Your turn."

He's smiling by now, and looks down at his blue capped pen before finally speaking.

"My name is Perseus Jackson. Don't think I have a middle name. Um, both of my parents died when I was little, so I kind of went into foster care until I turned ten. Then I ran away."

His face has clouded, but it seems to brighten up again once he's passed that part.

"I love swimming. And the ocean. I don't like the way leather smells. I really like coffee."

His list is much shorter than hers, but she takes it as progress.

Cautious on the inside, she stands up and cheerfully offers him her hand.

"Then let's go get some."

His eyes go from her fingers to her face, debating whether or not to accept, and then he smiles and lets her help him up.

Her heart soars.

Later that afternoon, when she goes home, she leaves the blanket there. Neither of them mentions it, but both of them know.

They're friends now.

… … …

"Hey, Percy! Brought company. Hope you don't mind."

His expression turns a million times happier when he sees the dog she's brought with her.

Blaze is her beagle, the smartest animal she's ever met. He and Percy are instantly taken with each other. All she can do is watch, not sure which one of them is cuter, Blaze panting and wagging his tail and Percy cooing and ruffling his ears.

And she realizes that, for the first time since her parents got divorced, she is really and truly happy.

In this moment, with the boy with green eyes, she's happier than she's ever really been.

… … …

"It's my birthday today," he says conversationally, not looking her in the eyes.

"_What?_" is all she can splutter, dropping the paper she'd been doodling on.

"It's not a big deal," he mutters, offering her a one-shouldered shrug. "Just a birthday."

"Oh, no. You are _not_ getting out of it that easily. We are _celebrating._"

He laughs as she takes his hand and literally drags him down the street.

"Annabeth! You're crazy. Where are we going?"

She ignores his question and instead starts to scold him.

"You, young man, are seventeen today, and you honestly thought your _best friend_ would let it go by without making a huge fuss over it?"

He responds, still chuckling, and neither of them thinks it's odd that they're best friends.

It's what they've become.

… … …

"Happy birthday," she beams, loving the way his eyes glaze over as he stares at the ocean in front of him.

She'd driven him there with her newly-earned license, him complaining all the way, but he doesn't seem to mind too much now.

"Come on," she says, dragging him along the beach. She collapses into the warm sand, not caring that it's getting in her hair, and Percy laughs and plops down next to her. His pen is in his pocket, but he starts messing with her golden strands instead, almost absentmindedly, and she sighs happily and turns towards the sea.

"It's beautiful," she murmurs, her gaze trained on the crashing waves, and he makes a small noise of agreement in the back of his throat.

But he isn't looking at the ocean.

… … …

Kids get the summer off. Parents don't. Her dad is away on a two-week business trip, and he trusts her enough to stay home alone.

He shouldn't.

"You wanna come over to my house today?" she asks Percy, fiddling with the short black hairs on the nape of his neck.

"Hmm?"

He's dozing, his head in her lap, and she laughs and bends down to kiss his eyebrow.

"My dad's not home. I wanna show you my house."

For the first time in six years, Perseus Jackson sleeps in a bed that night.

… … …

Things are different now.

He has family, and a friend, and a home, all wrapped up into one single person. There is no cycle, because every single day brings something new and good. He is content. And happy.

The cycle has been broken.

The boy with green eyes is Perseus Jackson. He is seventeen years old, his favorite colour is blue, he chews on the inside of his cheek when he's nervous, and he takes a blue ballpoint pen with him wherever he goes.

And he is someone.

… … …

A little girl sees the boy with green eyes today.

"Mommy, who's that?" she says, tugging at the hem of her mother's pink sundress. The middle-aged woman turns her head in the direction her daughter is looking.

He's sitting on a park bench, laughing, holding the hand of a girl with blonde hair. There are crinkles around his eyes when he smiles. His face is full and healthy, and his blue shirt is pristine. His jeans are loose around his hips, and he's trying to balance a pen on his nose. He drops it, and looks up at them with a grin.

"Well? Who is he, Mommy?"

The woman's light blue eyes, shrouded by sunglasses, meet the boy's green for just a moment.

And then she smiles, giving him a little wave before taking her daughters hand in her own.

"That's Percy," she says, adjusting her sunhat as they walk towards the town.

And as she's cooking dinner, she thinks about how the last time she and her family went to the beach, the boy with green eyes was there.

**always wanted to write an AU fanfiction for PJO. this is short but you know whatever. review? :)**


End file.
